Who am I to say?
by Sam The Russia
Summary: "You don't call me back. You won't email or text me. And God knows I'm too much of a coward to look you in the face, and speak. So here comes one very long text." Greg needs to talk to Mycroft about an ever-touchy subject. Mystrade. Inspired by duchesscloverly's video. Chapter two /finally/ up.
1. Who Am I to Say?

_**Who am I to say?**_

Look, I know you've been busy. Both of us have. But...

This has to be adressed.

You don't call me back. You won't email or text me. And God knows I'm too much of a coward to look you in the face, and speak. So here comes one very long text.

I am sorry.

For whatever it was I did wrong, or offended you, or led you off. I didn't mean too. To be honest, I don't think you ever wanted this to... escalate, to what its become. To this - whatever _this_ is. Whatever _we_ are.

I know what your answer is, if you don't reply. I probably know it already, and I don't want to face the truth. That's the funy thing about me. Always afraid of whats looking straight at me. Always running from the obvious, like it will actually catch me. Maybe that's why I do this job. To solve _other people's_ problems. To capture whatever it was that finally _caught_ them.

Funny... I am afraid of the truth, and not of serial murderers, or guns, or angry ex-wives.

That was... strangely poetic. But, really, it's honest.

You confuse me. You know I'm no good at this, but still, you push me. Guess you're supposed push those you love care for to become better, or to face their fears.

Well, here I am. As much of a confrentation as you are getting, Mycroft.

But... Look at that. I almost wrote_ love_. You really hate that word, don't you? I don't understand why, though. Not everything has to end in bitterness, you know. But you never could quite grasp that... The fact that I actually care for you, despite your cold facade. That I want to be around you, even when you don't want to be bothered. That I _love_ you, even if you don't love me back. Even if you never did.

But, who am I say that?

Who am I to say anything about whatever it is that goes on in that bloody head of yours? You never _really_ let me in, did you? Even me... You couldn't **trust** me with that much.

I am sorry, Mycroft. For everything.

Despite all of this... Despite everything I have said that _should_ drive me (or any _sane_ human being) away, it hasn't. Because, God save me, I love you. Whether you accept it or not.

_Mycroft Holmes, I love you._

Just... think about what I asked. And... please, call me, when you get the chance.

-GL


	2. Trust

Warning: My will be a little OOC. I hope it isn't too bad, though.

* * *

Angelo's, ten minutes. -M

Greg looked at his cell phone in disbelief. Not only had Mycroft texted him back, but wanted to talk. Sure, it had taken him a day and a half, but the former DI hadn't really expected a response at all, to be quite honest. He couldn't remember the last time they met to talk, or for any real length of time, actually. The thought saddened him. Was their love, or whatever it may have been, really doomed? He was almost positive of it._ It isn't all My's fault, _he supposed. _Maybe I could have done something... better. _His thought was cut short by another vibration in his hand.

If you don't want to see me, I will also understand, Gregory. -M

"Tch." Greg almost laughed. He looked up at the ceiling, wondering for a moment, before responding.

Of course I want to see you. Assuming you have time, My. -GL

That's what it was all about. They were losing touch. Not in a slow drifting sense, either. It was just over a period of weeks, Mycroft had stopped coming home. Greg didn't get an answer as to where he had been, except 'Consider it overtime, dear.' My stopped calling as often, stopped replying to Greg's emails, and worst of all, he never sounded concerned.

If Greg were drunk and upset over something (between Sherlock's death, the loss of his job over warning John, his ex-wife leaving messages that only reminded him he wasn't good enough for anyone, and Mycroft's disappearances, there was a lot to be upset about) he would try to call. Sometimes he'd leave a drunken message about how he wanted My to come home. Those normally didn't get responded to, and Greg would feel even worse in the morning. Not only was his bed empty again -as it seemed to be every morning- but he'd probably interrupted Mycroft, or worse, made the Iceman feel bad. If that happened, Mycroft would shut down. He would drink, but only if no one was around. But to speak with a broken Mycroft, was to receive no information. It was a rare case, but once in a great while, it would happen.

Most of the time, though, Greg blamed the entire thing on himself. He had a tendancy to do that. He couldn't fit the blame anywhere else, so his shoulder's lifted all of it. He felt sorry, and like he had driven Mycroft away somehow, or offended him with his calls. He felt like the entire ordeal was his fault. He was obviously not as intelligent or powerful as Mycroft. Perhaps he found someone better. Sometimes, Greg thought that would be best. Which is what drove him to type such a long entry to Mycroft.

Other times, Greg would be angry about the whole ordeal. He didn't know why Mycroft wasn't home, and he was never given a straight answer. It more than irked him - it could be down right infuriating. "We are supposed to be honest with one another, My. Trust is a two way streak." Greg once told him, in a now rare instance that he was home. "I am sick of not knowing. If you're seeing someone else, just tell me!" Greg wouldn't have been as angry if honesty was used. But Mycroft would continue to make up excuses. "It's my job. I'm sorry my being away upsets you so much, Gregory." Mycroft would tell him.

For you, I have all the time in the world. -M

Bullshit. -GL

This once, believe me, please. I know you are angry, and upset with me. But, I have news for you. -M

Why should I warrant that trust? I obviously don't get it back. I'm starting to think this is a waste of time. -GL

No response.

I thought I melted the Iceman. I guess not. -GL

Please, just come down to the café. -M

Just pulled up. -GL

Greg sighed, stepping out of the cab. He walked through the doors of Angelo's, and wiped his feet on the floor mat, ignoring the fact that Mycroft was watching him. Greg didn't look him in the eye until he sat down. "Hello, Mycroft." He rolled his head back a bit, stretching his neck.

"Gregory." Mycroft nodded, simply acknowledging Greg's existence. "I came to apologize." He stated simply.

For a moment, Greg felt their situation was strange. Mycroft disliked cafes. The only reason he thought he'd pick this place, was because Greg had always liked the food. "'S that so?" He asked. Even more suspicious, was that Mycroft did not apologize. In the rare event that it did happen (he was not as vain as his late brother), it was private and kept between Mycroft and the second party. As to why on earth he would apologize here, Gregory had no idea. In that particular moment, he didn't care, either. "Well... go on, I won't stop you."

Mycroft sighed. "I know it's been tough. Especially on your end, Gregory. Believe me, it's been hard for me as well."

"I lied. I'm stopping you there, because it doesn't make any sense." He paused. "Why don't you call me back, or email me? I can't go on just _not knowing_, My."

"I can't. You must believe me. There's a very good reason I stopped responding to you. And, it will be hard for you to believe, but I would have been endangering your life by just speaking to you too often, until now. It was never because I didn't_ love _you. Do not mistake my distance for drifting." Mycroft looked Greg in the eyes, speaking in the same serious tone he always had. The word 'love' coming out of his mouth struck a chord in Greg, though. "I am terribly sorry for the strain I have put not only on you, but on our relationship."

Greg listened, but something wasn't right. If his life was "endangered", he had a right to know why. "Right, of course. I'll accept every bit of that the second you tell me what was that important. If I am that important to you, what made you leave?" He spoke as if he really had just abandoned him.

Before Mycroft answered, he looked to the door, and held his breath. "See for yourself, Gregory."

Greg listened, on instinct, mostly, and saw a mirage. A past image. A nightmare. It was impossible. Literally, impossible. But, there he was - Sherlock Holmes, in the flesh, standing before Greg and Mycroft.

"I do hope you'll forgive me, Gregory, my brother is a very needy person."

* * *

Author's Notes:

I warned you all. My Mycroft is absolute rubbish.  
Such a fun word to say. Rubbish.  
Like Misha. Right, Kelly?

All of my reviewers! I can not thank you all enough. I really got my ass in gear after I reread all of them. I'm SO sorry, though. Between travelling for work, family and school, I couldn't find much time. But, here it is.

I must really thank Kelly, first, for telling me I am good at this. And deciding it really did need a happy ending. Also, thanks to Puggle, Boxerbee, and mia-dcwut-09, who all messaged and helped me. I really appreciate your time and suggestions.  
Oh, and kleakat - You like what I did there?


End file.
